


Bowstring of the Dead

by Kedreeva



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Lives, Allydia - Freeform, Banshee Lydia, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1344934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm going to bring her back," she tells him after he delivers all two-dozen arrows into her slender hands. "I saw where she went. I can hear her voice."</p><p>"She's dead," Peter tells her. He says it to be cruel, but she notches an arrow and sends it inches-deep into the bulls-eye of Allison's old target paper.</p><p>"That didn't stop you," she says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bowstring of the Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Тетива смерти](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250643) by [arktus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arktus/pseuds/arktus)



> For [Sinyhale](http://sinyhale.tumblr.com) and [Greenbergsays](http://greenbergsays.tumblr.com), and for everyone who is currently mourning the loss of Allison Argent, because I don't think there's any way Lydia would let her best friend go that easily. She's Lydia Fucking Martin.
> 
> Original prompts [here](http://kedreeva.tumblr.com/post/80181741223) and [here](http://kedreeva.tumblr.com/post/80158222162/herohale-the1001cranes-i-find-this-very). And the [Tumblr version](http://kedreeva.tumblr.com/post/80228032681/bowstring-of-the-dead).
> 
> Russian translation [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3250643) by [Arktus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/arktus/pseuds/arktus).

* * *

She takes Allison's bow home with her that night as she drives behind an ambulance that is too late to save her best friend. She had tried. She'd told them to stay away, not to find her, but they hadn't listened. A part of her had known they wouldn't; Allison and Scott are not the type to leave a friend in danger.

Two days later she sits three feet from an open casket the color of Allison's last arrowhead and she doesn't listen to the eulogies. She doesn't get up to make one, or look inside the casket; that isn't Allison. It's a vessel, a home with no lights left on, no one left inside.

The next day, she drives herself to Allison's apartment, tucks the bow over her shoulder, and knocks on the door until Chris answers. "I felt her die," she says before he can give a greeting, and before he decides what on Earth he is supposed to do with that kind of confession, she pulls a silver arrowhead from her pocket. "And I saw where she went."

He lets her in, and she tells him what she knows of shooting a bow, everything that Allison taught her, and asks for his help. He tells her he can't. He can't do this, can't teach her, can't train her, can't send another teenager to her death. Lydia tells him they all die someday. She takes two quivers of arrows and leaves him to his empty home.

The forest is quiet when she reaches the place where Allison used to practice. Lydia thinks it sounds like even nature mourns the death of the silver-hearted huntress, but she knows it is only the wolf that followed her. She ignores Peter in favor of notching an arrow and drawing back the string.

When she lets it fly, the bowstring strikes across her forearm and the world explodes into voices. She has never plucked a string so hard as a fired bow strung tight enough to kill. One voice she can hear above the others, familiar in ways that bring tears to her eyes, calling to her.

She drowns out the others with every arrow she looses, until the quivers are empty and she understands how to use the bow. By the time she lowers the weapon her shoulders ache, there is a bruise down her forearm from the lashing string, and the only voice left is Allison's, telling her it's okay, echoing some of her last words to Scott.

The tear-streaks down her cheeks do not change the authority in her voice when she tells Peter to fetch her arrows back for her. He finally gets close enough for her to see him, if only to tell her she has no business giving him orders. It's a lie, and they both know it. He had hoped it would take her longer to realize that the same thing that bound her to him, bound him to her.

"I'm going to bring her back," she tells him after he delivers all two-dozen arrows into her slender hands. "I saw where she went. I can hear her voice."

"She's dead," Peter tells her. He says it to be cruel, but she notches an arrow and sends it inches-deep into the bulls-eye of Allison's old target paper.

"That didn't stop you," she says. Peter watches her shoot until the sunset drives them both out of the forest.

 

* * *

 

It comes for Stiles that same night. He is lying in bed not sleeping, afraid to close his eyes and see fireflies, when the shadows darken and swallow him whole. They take him so quickly it doesn't ruffle the silence or rouse his father, who is awake only one room over.

The sheriff blames himself in the morning, when he finds an open window and an empty room. He blames himself with every phone call he makes to tell the others that Stiles has been taken and he was right there. Scott tells him it wasn't his fault, but both of them wonder what else he could have done to prevent it.

Afterward, it is Kira's mother who tells them where the Oni are, because although she cannot find the Nogitsune, she can feel the phantom flick of her tails with every move they make. The dark fox doesn't know that's possible; it has no concept of the term sacrifice, has never lost one of its own tails yet, so it isn't waiting for them when they arrive.

Instead, it is sitting crouched near its refurbished toy, fireflies dancing a sickly-green crown of glow around its head as it whispers to Stiles about his mother. The smile on its face is nothing short of sadistic every time Stiles croaks protests through a throat hoarse from screaming.

Scott doesn't hesitate to leap straight at the monster.

He never makes it. Even if it isn't watching its own back, its stolen shadows are, and they coalesce in front of the eager wolf before he can reach his best friend. The purloined Oni are silence and sharp swords, bright eyes and determination, with all the power of an insatiable fox to drive them.

Everyone is there, but only Kira sees the nogitsune grab Stiles by the arm and steer him into the darkness. She yells to Scott, and Derek hauls him away from the Oni so they can both give chase. Lydia watches them disappear from view, but she can't see a way through the battle to follow.

The building is empty, silent as they tumble into it. Scott's bleeding from a sword wound but beneath the metal-copper tang is the scent of  _Stiles_. They don't hesitate, just tear down the hall and bang into a room devoid of movement. The scent trail ends at the foot of a table upon which two identical boys sit.

"Thank god you're here," one of them blurts as the other says: "Don't trust him."

They are  _identical_ ; same faces, same clothing, same scent. Their hearts beat the same rhythm and they are looking between Scott and Derek with the same injured, pleading expression. When Scott turns to Derek, it is clear that neither of them think they will be able to tell.

"I can prove it's me," they chorus, then shoot one another the same glare. Scott's stomach swoops in fear; he has no idea how to tell the difference.

"When we were thirteen, I gave you something for your birthday," Scott says. Maybe the movies are right, and the real Stiles will know the answer.

But it's not the movies, and both of them answer: "Your mom gave me rollerblades, and you gave me batman wheels for them."

"What else?" Scott says quietly.

The flush under their skins is identical, the race of their hearts perfectly in synch as they drop their eyes. It's like watching a mirror in a house of horrors. "A kiss," one of them says. The other wrinkles his nose, and adds: "So we wouldn't go into high school having never been kissed."

Scott looks to Derek, who can only shake his head. He can't tell the difference either. "You came to my loft the last week before school. What did I tell you?"

One of them clamps his mouth shut and the other can't seem to take his eyes off of Derek, but neither of them answer the question right away. Scott guesses the answer, and he knows even if they respond, it won't be a good gauge of who is who; there isn't anyone that doesn't know how Derek feels about Stiles.

The idea that they won't be able to solve this settles in Scott's belly like lead. The nogitsune has been inside of Stiles' mind, has burrowed into every nook and cranny, consumed everything Stiles knows about all of them. It knows what he knows, remembers what he remembers. It performs as a flawless doppleganger, and they can't all sit in this room forever.

"Stiles," Derek starts, but his voice cracks on the name and Scott knows he must have come to the same conclusion.

The door slams open behind them and the others spill into the space, trailing to a stop between Scott and Derek, eyes wide as they take in the situation. They don't ask questions; the fact that both eerie twins are still alive tells them that there's nothing to be done. They have killed the puppets, but not the puppeteer.

Without a word, Lydia raises Allison's bow and sends a silver-tipped arrow through Stiles' heart.

 

* * *

 

"How did you know?" Derek asks when she turns up at his loft.

"I didn't," she says, ducking under his arm and into the room. She's there for the other wolf, doesn't have the time or inclination to sit and explain to him that it was the echo of Allison's ghost that knew.

She doesn't know how to tell him that when she drew back the string, she could hear the echoes of the murdered in the rustle of foxtails.

Peter is lying on the couch, pretending not to notice her whirl-winding through the doorway and marching to his side. "I saw where she went," she tells him. He sets the book down in favor of meeting her steely gaze. "I'm going to get her."

"Just going to walk into the underworld, Persephone?" he inquires dryly.

"If I have to. " Her voice doesn't waver, her heart steady. They can both feel the hold she has of him now that she's realized she can seize it; this was not what he wanted, not what he expected to happen when he bit her. "And you're coming with me."

He tells himself that he is going because she will owe him, but they both know that isn't true. He wants to see her evolve, to try to shape her, tame her, just as much as she does him. When they leave the loft, he asks her which she thinks will give first- the immovable mountain or the unstoppable force.

She tells him even mountains erode over time, and he gets a glimpse of how grave a mistake he may have made in underestimating her.

 

* * *

 

They spend time trying to track down another sane banshee, someone who can tell them anything about her own powers. Stiles and his father do the brunt of the searching, but the others are not idle in the meantime. Lydia won't let them be; Malia's name is not the only thing she took from the alpha she-wolf's claws.

The werewolves of Beacon Hills have never known the things she teaches them from the memories she received. The first time Scott and Derek drop four paws to the forest floor and look back at her from truly lupine faces, she knows it is not a bloodline trait.

She sears an oath into the skin of Peter's ribs in exchange for teaching him.

He tells her he would have gone with her anyway, but she doesn't need to be a werewolf to hear the lie. She wipes the blood from the stark, black lines of the sigil and doesn't think about the way he shivers.

The call comes two days later and it isn't Stiles that finds the first banshee- it's Chris. He gives her a phone number that's been disconnected and an address that's hundreds of miles away. He tells her not to go, and she tells him Allison would have come for her. That Allison  _did_  come for her, and she will do no less in return.

Scott and Isaac both offer to drive, but Lydia tells them the fewer people that go, the less intimidating it will be. While that's true, she doesn't tell them that Peter is in her passenger seat.

"You could have taken anyone," Peter points out as they drive through the night.

"I didn't want anyone I like getting hurt," she says without looking over. He props his feet on her dashboard to annoy her, and doesn't think about why the comment feels more like an injury than an offense.

 

* * *

 

The woman who answers the door nearly a thousand miles from where they started doesn't look twice at Lydia. "The wolf is a surprise," she says when she sees the tawny creature at Lydia's fingertips. She lets them in anyway.

Her name is Elisa and what she has to teach Lydia about their powers seems boundless. Lydia takes it in for hours while Peter pretends to sleep on the couch, his pricked ears giving him away. She shows Elisa the bow, but the other banshee won't even touch it.

"I can hear it from here," she says quietly, staring at the instrument as though it has come to life in Lydia's hands. "A bow strung with a string of fate."

"I'm seeking its owner," Lydia tells her. She doesn't mean to sound so desperate.

"She's passed on." It's gentle, the reminder. They can both hear the echo of Allison's life and death.

"I know," Lydia says, giving a little shake of her head. There has to be a way. "I watched her die. I felt it. I saw where she went, I just can't get there."

"We're not meant to," the banshee tells her.

"But we can." It's not a question. Nothing she has tried has worked, but she knows they must be able to. They must, because anything less would mean Allison is unreachable, and that is not an option.

It is a long while before the woman rises. She doesn't answer, doesn't confirm or deny anything. When she returns, she sets a box on the table and a book into Lydia's hands. The spine holds a language Lydia doesn't speak, but she can feel the power thrumming between the covers.

"If you want her back, it won't be easy," Elisa tells her, and Peter stops pretending to sleep. "And it has a price."

She removes the lid of the box and inside are glass containers full of blood and bones.

 

* * *

 

Crossing over isn't what she imagined. Elisa anoints her throat with blood from the box and Lydia paints her own blood into Peter's tawny fur to connect them. They spend days listening to the murmurs of the dead, until Lydia can pick out individuals. Until she can find Allison's voice without the bow.

She thanks Elisa for her help and when they scream, when they shriek to drown out all the other noises, she expects to hear the dead, but she doesn't expect to hear Peter.

Not his voice, not aloud, but she can hear the death that clings to his fur, the screams of his family dying around him and the cries of the people he has killed. When she drags him to the other side, she holds his own death in the palm of her hand, and knows that he is  _hers_  now, irrevocably.

They arrive in a place between worlds, and Allison's smile is the first thing she sees.

"I knew you'd come for me," Allison says the moment before Lydia flings herself into her arms. It's not warm or cold or any sensation at all, but Allison hugs her back like she's been drowning without her.

"I'm sorry," Lydia chokes out, all the bravado and determination of the last month evaporated in the face of her relief. She thinks she might never let Allison go again.

"It's okay," Allison murmurs into her hair.

"They're waiting," Lydia says, finally. She motions Peter over, and he noses up under her palm, not wanting to be left behind. Allison takes her other hand, threading their fingers.

"Then let's go home," Allison tells her. The words feel good on her tongue.

Lydia closes her eyes, her fingers in the ruff of fur at Peter's shoulders as she seeks out the beacon that will lead them home. When she finally finds it, that pinprick of darkness that calls to her, she screams back.

As she screams, Peter joins her, throwing his head back and loosing a chilling howl she can feel to her very core; he may not be a banshee, but he had bound her power to him once, and his power is bound to her now.

When she opens her eyes, it is to step into the daylight of Beacon Hills, a huntress at her side and a wolf at her heel.


End file.
